Love by John Lennon
by SeaTurtleWaves
Summary: How does love affect our lives? How are our relationships based on love? How does who we love change us? An exploration of love based on Shawn's life. One line from the song per chapter. This time on Love: Shawn and his mother
1. Love is real, real is love

Disclaimer: This disclaimer says that all the love generated from and between our beloved characters wouldn't be possible without everyone at USA Network, Steve Franks and writers and James, Dule, Maggie, Tim, Corbin, and the many other talented actors. Not profiting, except the love we give is equal to the love we make. Also, great thanks to John Lennon and his message of peace, love and happiness. I do not own the song, did not write the song, but I do love it!

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I decided I needed to continue challenging my writing so I came up with this idea to take one line of a song and write a short story around that. I chose John Lennon's song Love and created a 13 piece essay of shorts based around Shawn.

All other characters will most likely make an appearance, I will give a warning if I feel there is a deviance from canon. These are meant as stand alones. I hope you take a look and enjoy this new project!

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Shawn knew that he was a screw up according to Lassy, a joke to many in the PD, a huge flirt to Jules, an efficient pain-in-the-ass to Chief Vick, a disappointment and only son to his father, an immature, protective friend to Gus and a son to be proud of and to worry about to his mother. Shawn knew that all of these people saw his worst traits; his father didn't see anything but what Shawn wasn't most of the time, Gus saw him as a secondary, no tertiary job, someone who needed to be babysat and watched closely for any signs of mischief, and there were a fair few who thought very little of him and his psychic antics at the SBPD. Shawn was aware of just how flawed he was. He wasn't perfect by any means, there were some things he wasn't proud of; times he had jumped to the wrong conclusion, like about his father and the divorce, or when he had flaked out on someone. Times when he dragged Gus into trouble, or when he wasn't there for Gus's milestone 21st birthday, or missing calls home for Christmas while he was out on the road. He sometimes wished he didn't enjoy angering Lassy quite so much or embarrassing Jules and annoying the Chief.

On the other hand, Shawn was the first to admit his good traits, I mean aside from the fabulous thick hair or his ability to make any pair of jeans look good. He knew that Lassy was sometimes envious of Shawn's track record and habit of being right so often; Shawn himself was proud of the fact that he could easily hold his own amongst the detectives. Shawn knew that his mother was proud of him, of the good work he was doing, for making friends and being (mostly) well-adjusted. Chief Vick appreciated all of the hard work and diligence that he applied to solving cases especially when they were difficult, she also liked his energy and spirit around the staid precinct. And Jules, Jules liked Shawn's humor, and flirtation and his way of making her feel so special when his eyes landed on her and sparkled just so.

Shawn knew that these people knew who he really was and that despite all his bad traits and in spite of all his good traits, they all combined to make him the unique individual that they all loved. And that love was the most real thing about any of them.


	2. Love is feeling, feeling love

Love is not all roses and sunshine and rainbows. Love isn't just smiles and pineapples. There's a dark side to it. It's feeling all the bad things, sometimes even more than feeling the good things. Love is feeling pain, it means when someone is hurt, you share their agony. When they are sad, you feel depressed, when they are stressed, you share the burden and when they are scared, you tremble alongside them.

Love means feeling hot hatred fill your veins as a bully at school shoves Gus down to the dirt during recess. Letting it fill you up as you plan for revenge. Plotting some way to return the hurt. A way to erase the tears of humiliation that track down dirty, dark cheeks, before being quickly swiped away in hopes that no one noticed.

It's feeling the darkness in your mind as you lay awake at night, hearing your mother sobbing, after getting the call that your father was involved in a hostage situation, and no one knew if he was still alive. Wondering how you would move on with your life, what it would be like to be raised solely by your mother; knowing your father might never get to see you grow up.

It's being depressed because your grandmother is dying in the nursing home; going to see her for the last time, seeing your mom cry so hard. Your father's heavy hand on your shoulder anchoring you, helping to keep you from sinking into the darkness of all the rancid death that surrounds you. The smell sharp and burning in your nostrils, making your eyes water.

Seeing your grandmother who made the best ham and pineapple roast, the one who taught you the chicken dance, now reduced to pale, papery skin holding tiny, frail bones together, her eyes pale, cataracted and skipping right past your face with no recognition.

The horror of being told that men don't cry by your uncle as he wrapped his thick fingers tight around your arm, squeezing painfully. Unable to see into the hospital room where your mother lay after her car accident, your father standing vigil by her bedside. Your uncle, angry and full of his own pain at seeing his sister so injured, yanking you away from your family and back home to wait for any news.

When he finds you crying in the kitchen holding your mom's sweater, he slaps your face and sends you to your room. He can't stand the sight of you since you look like her. Two days later, when you are finally allowed into your mom's hospital room, you quietly walk up next to your dad, where he is sitting, his face gray and tired. But he cracks a smile and pulls you close, hugging you and inhaling the sweet scent of little boy as he pulls you onto his lap.

"It's gonna be okay, buddy, Mom's gonna be just fine."

Knowing that it was worth it feel the love from your father as he holds you close and in the days to follow, to see your mother's weak smile when she finally wakes up. And seeing that she is so happy just to see your face.

Shawn knew that when you loved someone, with all the good things, came the pain of feeling that love also.


	3. Love is wanting to be loved

Shawn had never met a single animal that he didn't fall in love with. As a boy he was constantly trying to bring some animal home.

The first pet he ever had was a spider he found in the bathroom when he was 3. It was coal black and had eight very fuzzy legs. It wasn't that big, maybe about the size of a ping pong ball. He instantly befriended the kind black spider and named him Captain Fuzzy. Not the most imaginative of names sure, but he was a loyal pet for that entire day.

Shawn carried him around, trying to feed him bits of his sandwich at lunch but the spider wasn't interested. He wasn't interested in his milk or oreos either. But then it was naptime afterwards and he had to find a good place for Captain Fuzzy to stay.

He put him in the perfect place, where he would stay warm and safe. Later when Shawn woke up, he got so distracted playing with his storm troopers that he unfortunately forgot all about his new friend.

Right around dinnertime his dad had came home. Shawn ran into his arms to greet him. Henry swept him up high, kissed his cheek, then twirled him in his arms, until Shawn was laughing uncontrollably. Just as his dad placed on the ground, they both heard a shrill scream sound from his parent's bedroom.

It was his mom, screaming for Henry to come up. Henry raced up the stairs, Shawn valiantly trying to keep up despite his father's stern, 'Stay put!'

Shawn entered the room to see his mom standing on the bed, while his dad stomped around the floor. Shawn confused, just stared as his parents went crazy.

When his dad stopped stomping and said his mom could come down, since 'It was dead', Shawn suddenly thought of his friend and raced over to his mom's jewelry box, where it was laid open on her vanity.

"Oh no! Where's Captain Fuzzy?!"

Looking around, his sharp eyes landed on his poor friend, freshly squished into the carpet where his dad had killed him. Sobbing hysterically, Shawn wouldn't be consoled until after his parents promised to get him some new friends. The very next weekend he brought home two rabbits.

That was his first disaster with a pet, but it certainly wasn't the last. From then on, he was always bringing other animals into the house.

Like the time he started a worm farm in the backyard out of his dad's bait supply or the stray dog who hung around the house for a week before disappearing. She was a collie mix he had named Kitt, he always wanted another dog after that but despite all his pleas, his parents never ceded on that.

He played host to many other animals. At least until his parents found them all and made him release them. They never understood how cool it was when he turned his bathtub into a mini ocean with sand and crabs and little fish he had collected from the sea. His parents were of course more concerned with the dead fish smell and the sand clogging the drains.

They also never understood the invisible bird circus he started, and made him give back all the dimes he charged for admission.

They never understood something, that to Shawn was perfectly clear. All these animals wanted was to be loved and he always knew that he was the best person for the job. They all found him or he found them because he was the best animal lover those pets had ever known!


	4. Love is touch, touch is love

Henry had a son.

A boy, someone to pass on the Spencer name and legacy. Someone who would, he selfishly hoped, would resemble him. He would be able to pass him around the police station and have people coo over how he looked so much like his dad. He would be able to continue the cop legacy and someday proudly see his son take over his position in the SBPD.

But right now, he was so small, a miniature person; all red-faced, naked and squalling as he came into the world. The slight weight of his son in his arms felt monumentally heavier. This tiny 7 pound baby was his responsibility. He would have to help him grow physically, emotionally and mentally. Teach him how to tie his shoes, drive the truck, hit a baseball. Everything he was going to do would reflect back upon himself, he would teach this baby to be a son, a man, a good person.

His heart jolted and his stomach sank imagining the possibility of his son getting a fever, or scraping his knee or bumping his head. These thoughts made him clutch the baby closer to his chest, already trying to shield him from the world. The people that would be rude to him, or the kids that might tease him, Henry knew he couldn't stop them but he would be there to reassure his son that he was special and loved.

Now with a baby to think about his paycheck would have to provide all the things they they would need to keep his little boy happy. Cheerios and milk to fill his belly, sneakers to cover his soft feet, toys to keep him enthralled and occupied. Henry took his responsibility seriously and would make sure that he provided meals, clothes, discipline, knowledge and care upon his son.

All of these thoughts were racing across Henry's mind as his eyes took in the small head that fit in his hand, already covered in brown hair, the sleepy eyes that were a strange hazel color that may well change in the next few months, and the feet that kicked restlessly in the blanket enclosing them, with all ten tiny toes present.

All thoughts stopped though, when he felt the long fingers of his son, flail against his hand, and then grip tightly around one rough, calloused forefinger. Henry just stared at the sight of those fingers that belonged to his son, as they lay wrapped around one of his.

The sight took his breath away and one thing became clear, Henry was a father and this was his son, Shawn, and this touch equaled the love that would carry them through the years as father and son.


	5. Love is reaching, reaching love

Spoiler for 'Ghosts' including a line that I did not write, that featured in the show.

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He reached for the red plastic phone in his room and dragged it over to where the bed and the wall had a small gap, he wedged himself down into the gap and settled on the floor, the phone balanced across his bent knees. As the voices raised again and he heard his name screamed out of his dad's mouth, he dialed Gus. Love was reaching across a phone line to his best friend for comfort.

Fifteen year old Shawn is sitting at the dining room table, going over the stupid quadratic equation again. He had a test coming up and he needed to pass it. So far he hadn't been doing well in the algebra class and his parents were tired of continually getting bad reports on his grade and work in the class. It didn't help that Ms. Abbott the old bat, hated him. 'The shriveled, nasty, old, b...'

*Slam* The sound of the cupboard slamming shut in the kitchen drew his attention to where he could hear his mother, behind the door preparing dinner. The rattle of pans against each other and the sound of the drawers being opened and shut harder than necessary told Shawn exactly what kind of mood she was in.

He hunched his shoulders up to his ears and leaned back over his homework. 'If x equals 4 then the square root of...'

"SHAWN!!" His mothers voice rose and bit into his ears. He raised himself up and hesitated before entering the kitchen. He hovered in the doorway waiting to see what she wanted.

"I told you to empty the dishwasher! Why you can't do anything to help out...I work all day and I have to come home and clean up after you as well?!" She pointed to the dishwasher, her lips pressed tight and her eyebrows scrunched together. She continued rattling around, making noise and huffing, before slamming a pot of water to boil onto the stove. She left the kitchen, telling Shawn to finish putting the dishes away and not to do a sloppy job of it.

Shawn carefully stacked the plates and lined the forks up in the drawer. He was putting the last glasses into the cupboard when the his dad stormed in from the dining room. "Shawn! Why isn't your homework done?! I told you, you screw up once more in that class and all of your social events will be shut down for quite awhile!"

Startled, Shawn's hand slipped and the glass fell off the edge of the shelf he was placing it on. His mother came storming in and saw the broken glass scattered across the floor.

"SHAWN!" Both his parents yelled, then turned on each other. Shawn slunk away, grabbing his homework as he edge around his parents as they fought. He raced up the stairs and reached for his phone.

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Fifteen years later Shawn picked up the same red phone and dialed the same person, "Dude, I'm freaking out! You have to help me!"

There wasn't any loud arguing or breaking dishes today, but still Shawn needed to talk to Gus because love was reaching across a phone line to his best friend for comfort and receiving it.


	6. Love is asking to be loved

Spoiler for 'Ghosts.'

And a reminder these aren't all part of the same adjoining story which is why certain things don't always match up. The common thread being Shawn and love and it's many interpretations.

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I love my mother. She's an amazing person, so smart. Did you know that's where I get my eidetic memory from? She's the best psychologist. People have been calling her all across the country and even farther sometimes, for years. Everyone knows she so good at what she does.

When she was married to my dad, there were times when she loved him with all her heart. Some nights when I was supposed to be sleeping, I would sneak down and they would be sipping wine and swaying to a song on the radio. She was so beautiful when she would throw her head back and laugh. My dad really adored her, I mean, I could always see that.

She used to smile and laugh all the time, starting tickle fests and pillow fights. She would help me build a fort out of blankets, or we would bake a surprise cake for my dad and when he would ask why, she would reply, "Just because, we love you." She would grab me and squeeze me tight, call me her little Goose and kiss my nose.

But time went on and things began to get tense. It must have started when I was around 7 or 8, she was out of the house more and more, and my dad started coming down on me harder and harder. And suddenly the late-night dancing gave way to late-night arguments. I hardly even knew what they were fighting about. When it first started they kept it to their bedroom late at night, when they thought I couldn't hear them. But soon the fighting began to take place earlier, starting right after they sent me to bed, then at the dinner table, then the breakfast table.

At some point, I could hardly even remember what it was like before the yelling. It took awhile to notice but then she wasn't there for dinner one night, then it was dinner and breakfast. Then it was a weekend here and there, then it was nearly every weekend, some times she would leave for a whole week. More and more she fell into the background of my life and I realized what was happening.

She was leaving me.

Don't get me wrong, they continued fighting for 8 more years, slowly drifting apart so that nothing could ever repair the gap they had created. But I began to realize, especially looking back, she was preparing to leave me, slowly pulling herself away from me just as much as she was pulling away from my dad. At 10 years old, I didn't understand why she wouldn't look me in the eyes, why she couldn't take me to the park, or come down to my school, or eat dinner with me.

I just wanted to stand in front of her and scream "Look at me! I'm right here! I'm your son! Please don't leave me! I'm right here in front of you! Please look at me!"

I never could though, I would smile when she deigned to greet me. I would hug her when she demanded one after missing my 12th birthday. I would kiss her cheek when she let me out of my room after grounding me for the mess in the kitchen after dad had worked a double and hadn't been home in 2 days and she had just returned from some other trip, so I had to try to make myself lunch. I would tell her 'I love you' even after she told me I was too old for Santa and all the gifts and cookies and magic tricks of Christmas when I was 14 and left dad and I alone until after New Years.

I shouldn't have had to ask you to love me, I'm your son, I'm your only son, your Goose. I still shouldn't have to ask even though I'm old enough to know better.


End file.
